


Three Wishes

by exclamation



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Assault, Eventual Sterek, M/M, Magic, Post 3a, threatening behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:25:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exclamation/pseuds/exclamation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently the lamp had magical powers and Stiles had made a wish about forgetting the supernatural. He doesn't have any memory of doing so. He also doesn't remember the guy that everyone says is his best friend or the fact that there are freaking werewolves in Beacon Hills. The more he learns about their world, the more he thinks he's better off not remembering. Unfortunately, the werewolves have other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“It looks like an Aladdin lamp,” Stiles said, picking the rusty object out from the collection of junk on the table. “Do you think anything will happen if I give it a rub?” 

He and Scott were browsing a yard sale. Scott was looking for something for Allison’s birthday. It had to be something cheap because his savings had gone on repairing his mom’s car after he’d used it to run over some mythological bird monster that had turned up in Beacon Hills and decided that people looked like a tasty snack. 

“Don’t even joke about that stuff,” Scott said. “In this town, you probably would get a genie coming out of an old lamp.” 

“Who’s joking?” said Stiles. “I could do with three wishes.” He gave the side of a lamp a quick buffing with his fingers. Nothing happened. “Oh.” 

Scott chuckled at Stiles’ disappointment and continued investigating a pile of old jewellery. 

“Do you think Allison would like this?” he asked, holding up a necklace. 

Stiles shrugged. He wasn’t really fussed about what necklaces she’d like. 

“What would you wish for?” he asked. “If the lamp really did have a genie, I mean. Would you wish to be human again?” 

“No. Being a werewolf is part of who I am and Allison’s dad is OK with it now. How about you? Would you wish all of this away?” 

“I don’t know. Life was certainly simpler before you got bit. Less scary, definitely. It would be quite nice not to have to worry about Piasa birds, gnomes and whatever the hell that grey blob thing was last month. But it’s kinda fun too, sometimes, and nice to know that we’re doing something important. Maybe, if I got three wishes, I’d use the first wish to forget about all this supernatural stuff so I could have a relaxing vacation, and then I’d use the second wish to remember everything again later.” 

“That seems like an awful waste of two wishes. What would you use the third one on?” 

Stiles thought for a moment, but only a moment, “I’d wish to be naked on a big bed while someone super hot drove me into orgasmic ecstasy.” 

“Ugh!” cried Scott. “Too much information! Shut up!” 

Stiles laughed. 

Scott picked up a necklace from the collection, “I’m going to buy this and then we can go for coffee. You getting that thing?” 

Stiles put the lamp down, “No. It’s useless. I’ll be at the jeep.” 

They had to use Stiles’ jeep because Scott wasn’t allowed to use his mom’s car, even after he’d promised not to use it to kill anymore monsters. Stiles worked his way across the yard, past piles of second-hand junk. His jeep was parked a little way down the street. He was most of the way there when he suddenly felt light-headed. A wave of dizziness came over him and he sank onto a garden wall, hoping that the feeling would pass quickly. Maybe he hadn’t had enough to eat at breakfast? 

“Hey? You OK?” 

Someone was suddenly in front of him, an unfamiliar guy about his own age, looking at him with concern. 

“I’ll be fine,” Stiles said. “Just low blood sugar or something.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m fine.” 

Stiles fumbled in his pocket for his jeep’s keys. He made an attempt to stand up and only remained upright because the guy grabbed him and had an arm around his waist. Stiles leaned into the guy because the alternative was face-planting on the sidewalk. 

“You are in no condition to drive,” the guy said, helping Stiles to the jeep and bundling him into the passenger side. 

“But it’s my jeep,” Stile protested, as the stranger grabbed the keys from his hand. 

“And I don’t want to have to call your dad if you pass out behind the wheel and drive into an oncoming truck.” 

Stiles might have tried arguing but right now he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. Sleep was a good plan. Sleep would make everything seem so much better. 

***

Stiles opened his eyes slowly, feeling considerably better. He still had no idea what had come over him at the yard sale and he was thinking that a good meal was probably an excellent idea, but first he needed to figure out where the hell he was. 

He was lying on a couch in a huge room that was barely furnished and badly lit. He could see a bed in one corner and a table under some huge windows. He could also see what appeared to be a large hole in one of the brick walls. There were a couple of guys here. One was the guy who’d helped him into the jeep at the yard sale, the other was a little bit older, all dark hair and sullen expression. Stiles sat up slowly, wondering if he’d just been drugged and kidnapped. 

The younger of the two guys hurried over to him, standing near the couch while Stiles took stock of his situation. 

“You feeling better?” the younger guy asked. 

“What the hell happened?” Stiles asked. 

“We don’t know. You just went pale and then passed out. We were starting to think we should take you to the hospital but we were worried that it might be something... weird.” 

“Weird?” Stiles echoed. 

“Yeah. Weird. You know: supernatural.” 

“Supernatural?” 

“Great,” the other guy muttered. “He’s turned into a parrot.” 

The younger of the pair shot him a glare and then turned his attention back to Stiles, “What do you think happened?” 

“I felt a bit dizzy and then apparently took a nap. Maybe I’ve not been getting enough beauty sleep.” 

The older of the pair made a noise that might have been a snort of amusement, “Clearly not.” 

That was uncalled for and more than a little mean. Stiles had had a rough morning. He didn’t need to sit around in an unfamiliar place, being insulted by strangers. He was feeling normal again now, or at least as close to normal as counted for him. He was able to stand without any dizziness. 

“I think maybe I should be getting home now,” he said. 

“We still don’t know what happened. Maybe we should get Deaton to check you over, just in case.” 

“Deaton?” The only Deaton Stiles knew was the vet. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a human being.” 

“My mom then. Just to be on the safe side.” 

“I think I could do better for a health check than some stranger’s mom.” 

Both of them started. They stared at him in surprised and, Stiles thought, worry. They exchanged a glance and then turned to stare at Stiles again. 

“What do you mean,” the younger asked, “strangers?” 

“I mean strangers. Strange people. People with whom I have no pre-existing connections. What do you think I mean?” 

“Stiles, we’re friends. We’ve been friends for years.” 

“I’ve never seen you before today.” 

They were both staring at him still. 

“Please tell me that this is some miss-timed joke?” the younger guy said. 

“If it is, I think I’m the punchline,” Stiles replied. 

“You really don’t know us?” asked the older guy. 

Stiles shook his head. 

"Amnesia?” the older guy asked the younger. “Did he hit his head?” 

“Not that I saw. Look, Stiles, tell us what you do remember. Do you remember who you are?” 

“Of course I remember who I am. I’m Stiles Stilinski.” 

“Do you know where you are?” 

“Somewhere in dire need of an interior decorator,” he said. “No. I’ve never been here before.” 

“Oh god,” the younger one breathed, what might have been a flicker of understanding on his face. “Stiles, do you remember Cora? Erica? Isaac? Do you remember the kanima? Werewolves? The darach? Lydia?” His voice became more desperate each time Stiles shook his head. “But you remember your dad?” 

“Yeah, I remember my dad.” 

“How about Allison?” 

“Allison? You mean the girl at school? Dark haired? Moved here a couple of years ago.” 

The guy seemed to relax a tiny fraction, “So you still know Allison. I guess that’s something.” 

“I wouldn’t say I know her,” said Stiles. “I doubt I’ve spoken more than three words to her since she came to the school.” 

“Stiles, check your phone. Check the contacts list.” 

Stiles pulled his phone from his pocket. Sure enough, the name Allison was up near the top of his contacts. 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “You could have put it in there while I was out cold. I don’t have to stand around here and listen to this nonsense.” 

Stiles made a move towards the door. The younger guy grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him with surprising force. Stiles stumbled backwards onto the couch again. 

“I think I have an idea what’s going on,” the younger guy said. He looked at the older one, “Don’t let him leave.” 

The younger of the two guys headed for the door. Stiles decided to give him a few minutes, because running after the guy he was trying to get away from was a stupid plan and there appeared to be only one door. At least there was only one of them now. OK, so the guy he was left with looked seriously built, but Stiles didn’t have to fight him, just get away. Stiles decided to try and lull him into a false sense of security while he waited for the younger one to be gone. 

“So are you going to try and convince me we’re friends?” Stiles asked. 

“You’re not my friend. You’re too irritating.” 

"I am wounded by that statement.” That apparently didn’t merit a reply from the older guy. Not that Stiles could really go on thinking of him as the older guy since the younger guy had disappeared so there was no one to compare him to. Stiles decided to stop that train of thought before it rambled too far off track. 

“Do I get to know your name?” he asked. 

“Derek.” 

Stiles wasn’t sure what was going on but it was presumably some sort of over-elaborate practical joke. Maybe the guys on the lacrosse team had decided to mess with his head. Or maybe this was a con and these guys were going to pretend to be his friends in order to get some money out of him. Fat chance, if that was their scheme, because Stiles wasn’t exactly part of the trust fund brigade. 

Stiles decided he’d waited long enough. 

He leapt to his feet and bolted for the door. 

Hands grabbed him from behind. Stiles was slammed into the wall, his chest pressing painfully into the rough brickwork. Derek’s grasp was like iron, pinning him in place. 

“You can’t do this!” Stiles protested. “This is kidnap. You can’t keep me here.” 

“Wrong,” growled Derek’s voice in his ear. 

Derek yanked Stiles away from the wall. Stiles tripped over Derek’s foot as he went backwards and he landed flat on his ass, skidding slightly on the floor. Derek turned to him, his smile showing white teeth. Teeth that were somehow lengthening. Hair sprouted from the sides of Derek’s face and the face itself shifted, becoming more animal. His eyes gleamed blue and his smile showed sharp fangs. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Derek said.


	2. Chapter 2

“You don’t want to eat me,” Stiles babbled. “I’d be really chewy and I wouldn’t taste nice at all. I’d make a really terrible snack. Plus, you’d have to worry about my clothes and then there’d be a big pile of bones to get rid of. Trying to hide a chewed up corpse would be a real chore.” 

Stiles had been slowly backing away from Derek but then his back hit the edge of the table and he couldn’t back up anymore. Words were still coming out of his mouth and he wasn’t sure they were making sense now but if he stopped talking he’d have to think and the only thing he could think about was the fact he was in a room with a freaking monster. 

Derek’s face shifted back until it looked human but Stiles wasn’t about to forget what he’d just seen. Except maybe he already had. This would certain count as a traumatic experience so he could see why his brain might decide to get rid of it. 

“For the love of god, will you stop talking?” Derek said. “I’m not going to eat you, Stiles.” 

“Good. That’s good. Because, you know, I meant it about being a terrible snack and very poor nutrition.” 

“Stiles, just shut up.” 

“Right. Shutting up. Right now. I’ll get right on the shutting up thing.” 

“You’re still talking.” 

Stiles forced himself to stop, because aggravating a monster who’d already thrown him across the room was probably really, really stupid. He wondered if he could try to make a break for it again or if that would just result in him getting his throat ripped out by a half-man-half-beast thing. Derek had just proven he was strong and Stiles didn’t want to put those claws and fangs to the test. 

Stiles ran his mind back over the recent conversation, looking at everything in a new light. He slowly raised his hand, asking permission to speak. Derek stared at him. 

“What?” Derek snapped. 

“Erm... when that other guy mentioned werewolves, I take it he meant it literally?” 

“Yes, Stiles. I’m a werewolf. Scott is a werewolf. Most of your friends are werewolves.” 

“Am I a werewolf?” 

“No.” 

“Then how come I’m friends with werewolves?” 

“Because you were friends with Scott and he got bitten by my psychotic uncle.” 

“Your uncle?” 

Derek sighed and pointed at the couch, “Sit down and I’ll refresh your memory.” 

Before he was even half-way through his story, Stiles decided he was really glad he didn’t remember any of this madness. Virgin sacrifices, paralyzing lizard monsters and twin wolves that could merge into a giant wolf were all way too much to deal with. It was nuts. He kept expecting someone to come out of the shadows with a camera and reveal this as a set up. It had to be a joke because there was no way all of this was real. Except that he’d just seen a man turn into a monster right in front of him. 

“I want to go home,” Stiles said. “If this is what your life is like, I want nothing to do with it.” 

“Stiles, you’re part of this.” 

“No, I’m not. You said it yourself. I’m not a werewolf. I’m not a banshee or a kanim-whatever. I’m human. And I want out.” 

He started to stand up, but then Derek was there in front of him, looming over him. 

“Sit down,” Derek said, his voice sounding more like a growl than anything else. Stiles sat back down with a thump. 

Stiles didn’t have a frame of reference to cope with any of this. Before this morning, the scariest thing in his life was the fear that his dad might find out he’d been drinking. Now either he had some problem in his brain that had made him forget a whole load of the past couple of years, and which was probably the symptom of something terrifying like a brain tumour, or a bunch of freaking werewolves were trying to trick him into believing that there was something wrong with his memory. Stiles wasn’t sure which possibility was worse. 

Before he could figure it out, the door opened and Scott returned. He was holding in his hand a small metal lamp that looked like he could have come out of Aladdin. Derek looked at it. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. That was basically what Stiles had been thinking. 

Scott came over and handed the lamp to Stiles. 

“At the yard sale, we found this and Stiles was joking about how maybe it had a genie and we talked about whether we’d wish to be normal again. I think the lamp might have done something.” 

Stiles looked at the battered lamp in his hands. He could have laughed if it weren’t for the whole scary werewolf thing. 

“Just, make a wish,” Scott said. “Hold the lamp and wish for your memories back.” 

Stiles gave him a look that he hoped portrayed his contempt of this plan, but he said anyway, “I wish for my memories back.” 

“Anything?” Scott asked. 

“Nope. Nothing.” 

“Maybe it takes a minute. Your reaction at the yard sale wasn’t instantaneous.” 

“Maybe this is ridiculous,” said Stiles, “and maybe I don’t care. Let’s assume that you’re right and I did wish away my memories, that might be a good thing. Clearly if I wished them away, they weren’t so great. To be honest, I’m quite happy not knowing about werewolves and banshees and stuff. I think my sleep will be a lot better for not remembering any of this. Now, if you’ll excuse me, you can keep your supposedly magical lamp. I’d like to go home.” 

He got to his feet, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. He gave Derek a look and tried to channel anger more than fear. 

“If you rip me to pieces or anything like that,” he told Derek, “then you should know that my dad is the sheriff and he’ll hunt you down and put silver bullets through your brain. So you should just let me go now.” 

“The silver bullets are a myth,” Derek muttered. 

“I don’t care. I’m leaving. I don’t know you guys and I don’t want to know you. If you find my memories, you can keep them.” 

Stiles started to walk to the door, expecting at any moment to be grabbed and hurled about again. But this time he reached the door without intervention. He got outside, headed down in the elevator and found his jeep parked outside the old building. His hands were shaking so much that he had to wait a few minutes before he could get the keys in and start the engine, but then he was driving away from this madness.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles was bored. The evidence that he was missing memories was mounting at a rapid pace. There were Facebook photos. There were weird sites in his internet browser history. But, most significantly, there was the fact that Stiles didn’t know how he usually spent his time. The more he thought about it, the more he could sense the gaps. He remembered going to the winter formal the previous year, but he had no memory of how the evening had ended. That might have been explained by one of the lacrosse players spiking the punch, but there were other inconsistencies. Stiles would wake up in the morning and have no idea what to do for the rest of the day. The summer break stretched in front of him and he didn’t know who he usually hung out with. 

So he spent a lot of time on his computer. He found files on his hard drive that documented werewolves, druids and a whole bunch of other things. The files gave detailed information on strengths, weaknesses and supernatural abilities. There were pages and pages of information on werewolves. Stiles poured over it all. 

He then spent time on the website for the local paper, reading articles from the past couple of years. Reports of grisly murders filled his screen and Stiles came to the conclusion that he should never leave his room again. No wonder he’d wanted to forget. Stiles was seriously wondering if he should wipe his hard drive and make the wish again because the more reading he did, the more fuel his nightmares would have and the more it undermined the wish. 

There came a knock on Stiles’ bedroom door. Given that he’d been reading yet another article about brutal murders, he nearly shrieked in surprise. 

“Stiles, you OK?” his dad asked. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

His dad pushed open the door and looked in. 

“Is everything alright?” his dad asked. 

“Um. Yeah. It’s good. I’m good. Everything’s good. How are you?” He cringed inwardly at how awkward and forced that sounded. His dad looked at him for a while and then looked to the computer screen. 

“Are you in research mode?” he asked. 

“Erm... no?” 

“Stiles, is there something I need to be worried about?” 

“Worried? No.” 

“Stiles, I don’t want there to be secrets between us anymore. If there’s some new magical creature in town, you can talk to me about it. Should I be keeping an eye out for dead bodies?” 

“No. It’s nothing like that.” 

“Then what is it like?” 

Stiles hesitated about how to answer that. It sounded like his dad knew about this stuff, probably more than he did right now, but still it was difficult to express. His dad would worry like crazy if he thought there was something wrong inside Stiles’ head. 

“Is this about Scott?” his dad asked. “I haven’t seen him around for a couple of days. Did you two have a fight?” 

“Not exactly.” 

“Which means what? Exactly?” 

Stiles considered a moment longer before deciding that honesty might be the way to approach this. After all, it seemed his dad had a better grasp on all this supernatural stuff right now. Besides, Stiles didn’t know who else to talk to because he couldn’t remember the people who were apparently his friends. So Stiles explained everything, about feeling faint at the yard sale and then how the werewolves had told him he’d forgotten a chunk of his life. Stiles realised about half-way through how completely nuts he sounded. 

“You’ve lost your memories?” his dad asked. The concern in his voice was touched by a trace of panic. 

“Not all of them. Just the ones to do with the weird stuff.” 

"There’s a lot of weird stuff.” 

Stiles glanced at his computer screen, “I’m getting that.” 

His dad rubbed a worried hand through his hair, staring at Stiles and visibly struggling to think of what to say. Stiles knew exactly how he felt. 

“I can understand wanting to forget some of the scary bits,” his dad said, “but you say you’ve forgotten Scott? He’s been your best friends for years. Why the hell would you want to forget him?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t remember making the wish.” 

His dad thought again for a minute, “Maybe we could talk to Deaton. He might know how to get your memories back.” 

“I wished them away. I think that’s a pretty big hint that I don’t want to remember.” 

His dad slowly nodded. “Alright. I certainly will sleep easier knowing that you’re staying away from all the magic and the monsters. But if you decide you want to remember again, we’ll talk options. It’s up to you.” 

“Thanks, dad.” 

***

Four days after the yard sale, there came a knock on the front door of the house. When Stiles answered it, he was surprised to see Allison there. She invited herself in. 

“Scott told me what happened to you,” she said. 

"So you know that as far as I’m concerned, I barely know you?” 

“Yeah, Scott said.” 

“So did you come to refresh my memory?” 

“Actually, I came to ask you to talk to Scott. He’s been... moping.” 

“Moping?” Stiles actually found that idea amusing. Scott was a werewolf who was apparently the most powerful pack member in Beacon Hills. And he was moping about Stiles. 

“He misses you. You two have been joined at the hip since I came to Beacon Hills. If you spend some time with him, maybe you’ll remember why you were friends.” 

“Why can no one take the hint that I wished away my memories of all of this? Why would I deliberately try to remember?” 

“Stiles, I can understand wanting to forget some of the terrifying monsters we’ve seen. I know when I first found out about werewolves, I freaked out. But I can’t believe you’d ever choose to forget Scott. Not deliberately.” 

“Well, apparently you’re wrong.” 

“Or you’re wrong and this wasn’t whatever you intended when you made the wish.” 

Stiles couldn’t easily argue that one because he had no idea what he’d intended because he had no memory of making any sort of wish. Her face settled into a knowing smile. She’d won this round. 

“Fine, I’ll go talk to Scott,” he said. 

“Great,” Allison grinned. She started to leave. 

“Um,” Stiles said. “You’ll have to remind me his address.” 

***

He found Scott’s house easily enough following Allison’s directions. He then sat out in his jeep for about twenty minutes working up the courage to knock on the door. OK, so he was a werewolf, but that wasn’t his fault and everyone, including Dad, kept saying that they were friends. Stiles wasn’t about to get his throat ripped out by an angry wolf. Probably. 

He finally walked up to the door and knocked. Scott opened the door instantly. So fast that Stiles wondered if he’d noticed the jeep and been waiting for him. Scott was smiling, but a little nervously. 

“I wasn’t sure if I’d see you again,” he said. 

“Well, everyone kept telling me that we were friends so I figured I’d see how being friendly worked out. Plus your girlfriend practically begged me.” 

“Allison begged?” 

“Begged might be a little strong, but there was some definite pleading involved. She said you were moping.” 

Scott’s reply managed to be both amused and offended at the same time: “I don’t mope.” 

Stiles couldn’t help laughing at his expression. 

A few minutes later, they were up in Scott’s room, sodas in hand, and the awkwardness was making itself known again. Stiles looked around the room, hoping for some clues about this guy. The lacrosse stick was obvious, and the photo of Allison, as well as the piles of books Stiles nearly tripped over. 

“You like reading?” Stiles asked. 

“It started as a way to get my grades up after a bad school year, but yeah, I found I liked it.” 

Stiles picked up a book from the nearest pile and looked at the cover, “’Ancient military strategies and their application in modern warfare.’ Sounds like a real page-turner.” 

“I figured I should brush up on tactics if I’m going to be the alpha and have to deal with... threats.” 

But that was dragging the subject too close to areas Stiles didn’t want to think about, so he caused a quick u-turn in the conversation and asked, “So how did we meet?” 

Scott grinned, “You hit me in the face with a football.” 

They spent some time with Scott filling him in on the forgotten details of their misadventures together. The stories were absurd but Stiles had no difficulty believing every word. Stiles was left with the impression that he was missing a lot of fun memories. After a while, Scott suggested Halo. 

“Assuming you can remember how to play,” he said. 

“Oh I’ll be kicking your little werewolf butt,” Stiles said, which made Scott laugh. 

They were still playing when the front door opened and Scott’s mom came home. She gave Stiles a pleasant greeting and asked if he was staying for dinner, as though this was the most normal thing in the world. He supposed it was, for everyone but him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for trigger warnings.

His dad was busy with work, so Stiles was going to do the grocery shopping instead. He was thinking of nothing more significant than whether he should get orange juice or apple as he walked to his jeep. The next instant, there was someone behind him, shoving him into the side of the jeep with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs. A hot body pressed against his back and warm breath danced across his neck. 

“Hey!” Stiles started to work up to a yell. 

“Quiet,” the voice hissed in his ear. 

Stiles found his voice suddenly deserting him. He tried to turn his head to get a look at the guy who was man-handling him. 

“You are going to get into your car,” the man said, “and you’re going to drive us both where I tell you to go.” 

“Or?” Stiles asked. 

The man’s hand was on Stiles’ arm. Stiles could feel his fingernails against his skin. Then the nails were lengthening to sharp points that were, for the moment, just resting against his vulnerable flesh. 

“You don’t want to know the or,” the man said. He stepped back and suddenly Stiles could move again. He turned round slightly to get a look at the guy who was apparently kidnapping him. It was Derek. Of course it would be Derek. Stiles had just about been coming to terms with the idea of being friends with a werewolf when this guy had to show up. 

Stiles got into the jeep quickly and fumbled the keys into the ignition, thinking he might be able to start the car and drive off before Derek could get in. Unfortunately, his attempts at haste just made the fumbling worse and Derek was already in and fastening his seatbelt before the engine started. Stiles tried to pretend that he hadn’t been planning to flee and he started driving. 

Derek gave directions calmly and Stiles followed them, pretending to be calm. Was this the sort of fear he’d wished out of his life? From his reading, he knew that there were defences against werewolves, but he also knew that he didn’t have any mountain ash or wolfsbane on him. If it came to a fight, Derek would be able to rip him to pieces without even breaking a sweat. Stiles was just holding onto the belief that Derek wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of kidnapping him if he was going to kill him. 

It didn’t take long for Stiles to work out that they were heading for the apartment he’d woken up in after the whole memory loss thing. So a scary wolf was luring him back to his creepy den. That wasn’t at all ominous. 

“Does Scott know you’re doing this?” Stiles asked. 

“I don’t ask Scott’s permission for everything,” Derek said, contemptuously. 

"I thought he was like your boss. Isn’t that how this whole alpha werewolf thing works?” 

“I killed my last alpha.” 

“Oh.” That really didn’t help this situation be any less scary. Stiles parked the jeep in front of the old building. From the outside, it looked abandoned, all dirty brick and boarded up windows on the lower storeys. It had a creepy vibe going for it that really suited Derek. 

“Come on,” Derek said. He grabbed Stiles’ arm and practically towed him over the passenger seat and out of the jeep. 

“Ow. Ow. Stop it,” Stiles protested. “Can you at least explain what you think is happening here?” 

“I’m going to help you get your memories back.” 

Derek’s hand was still around Stiles’ arm. There was no sign of claws yet, but the grip was painfully tight and showed no sign of letting up as he dragged Stiles inside. 

“Don’t I get any say in this?” 

“No.” 

“You really should work on your control issues,” Stiles said. “This need to be in charge all the time is clearly not healthy. And the aggressive behaviour isn’t good either. You should maybe try to channel your aggression somewhere more productive. Is there such a thing as a werewolf boxing club or something where you can vent these violent impulses without needing to yank my arm out of its socket?” 

“Shut up, Stiles.” 

They reached the apartment. Once they were inside, Derek finally let go of Stiles’ arm. He went over to the table while Stiles looked down at the marks on his arm where Derek’s fingers had dug in. 

“That’s going to bruise tomorrow.” 

“You’ll live.” 

"That's not the point.” 

Derek picked up the old lamp from the table and tossed it to Stiles, who caught it instinctively. 

"Hold it out in front of you in both hands,” Derek said. 

“Why?” 

Derek picked up something else from the table. It was a roll of duct tape. 

“What is that for?” Stiles asked, though he had a worried suspicion. 

“Physical contact with the lamp might be important. I want to make sure you don’t drop it.” 

“Might be important? It’s a magical object that you don’t really understand and you want to duct tape my hands to it?” 

Derek peeled back the end of the tape, “Yes.” 

“No. Never. And, let me just add, not a chance in hell.” 

Derek was stalking towards him again. Stiles hurled the lamp away and made a bolt for the door. Derek slammed into him from behind and wrestled him to the ground. Clearly Derek had a thing for pinning him and it was getting old fast. Stiles tried to wriggle away, but Derek sat across his thighs, hands pressed into Stiles’ back so he was forced against the floor. 

“Ow!” Stiles protested. “Not cool! Not acceptable!” 

Stiles kept trying to worm his way free, but the result was just his thighs writhing against Derek’s. Stiles could feel the hard pressure into the back of his legs where Derek’s body responded to the motion. Stiles went suddenly still, a cold fear filling him. He was aware of just how vulnerable he was right now. 

Derek pulled Stiles’ arms behind his back and twisted layers of duct tape around his wrists. Stiles was left with some movement in his hands, but his arms thoroughly trapped. Stiles knew he wouldn’t be able to drive or even open the door unless he could get this tape off. Stiles strained with his fingers, trying to reach an end of tape to get the stuff unstuck. 

Derek just stood up and left him there, fighting with the tape. Derek returned moments later and pressed the lamp into Stiles’ hands. Then there was more duct tape, smothering Stiles’ fingers and trapping them against the cold metal of the lamp. 

“There is something seriously wrong with you,” Stiles said. 

Derek put his hands on Stiles’ shoulders and hauled him up to a sitting position. 

“This will go a lot easier if you cooperate,” Derek said. 

“This will go even easier if you didn’t kidnap me and tape me up! Maybe you werewolves have some weird behavioural norms but to most people this is the sort of thing you just don’t do.” 

“I’m going to give you some incentive to get your memories back.” 

“Incentive?” 

“From what I’ve found out, it’s not enough to make a wish, there has to be a force of will behind it. You need to will the lamp into giving you your memories back. You have to want to remember.” 

“If you think tying me up is going to make me want anything, you’ve been viewing the wrong websites.” 

“You want to remember because you’ll want me to stop. As soon as you tell me something you’ve remembered, I’ll let you go. It could be anything. Tell me how we first met. Tell me the fake name you gave your friend when I was hiding in your room.” Derek walked across the room to a big, wooden trunk and opened the lid, before turning his attention back to Stiles and smiling in a way that was far from pleasant. “Tell me what I use these for.” 

“Holy crap!” Stiles exclaimed, because Derek was pulling chains from the trunk. There were thick chains ending in metal collars. One of them had spiky things that looked incredibly painful. 

“Will yourself to remember,” Derek said. “Make the wish. And I’ll stop this.” 

So that was his plan. He was going to torture Stiles unless he remembered something. As plans went, it really sucked. Stiles tried to think of something from the files on his computer that he might be able to use to bluff his way out of this. 

“Your family burned in a fire,” he said. 

“You didn’t remember that, did you?” 

“Yes!” 

Derek was holding one of the lengths of chain, the collar in one hand. He was stalking slowly towards Stiles. Stiles struggled to his feet, backing away, trying to put the couch or something between them. 

“You’re lying,” Derek said. “Focus on the lamp. Focus on wanting your memories back and I’ll stop.” 

“If you think this is going to make me want my memories back, then you are severely messed up!” 

“Make the wish, Stiles. Wish for your memories and this will be over.” 

“This isn’t an incentive! If this is the sort of thing you do, I don’t want to remember you! I don’t want to have anything to do with you ever again, you sick bastard.” 

Derek stopped his slow stalking. He tossed aside the chain. It fell to the floor in a clatter of metal. Derek's whole demeanour shifted. The cold, hardness faded from his face and he held out his hands, free from claws. 

“Relax, Stiles. I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“Relax?” Stiles nearly yelled the word. He felt on the verge of a panic attack. Derek tried to move towards him again, but Stiles just moved away. They were circling the couch and Stiles could keep this up forever if necessary. 

“I thought if I could raise your emotions, it would trigger the lamp’s power. I was never going to hurt you. I thought scaring you might make you instinctively call on the lamp’s magic.” 

“So your great plan was scaring me half to death? Good work there. Excellent. Really well thought through.” 

“Will you stop running away from me so I can untie you?” 

“You’re the one who tied me up in the first place!” 

Derek had changed so suddenly that Stiles didn’t trust him not to change right back. How could he know if this trying-to-be-nice guy was any more real than the monster who’d been terrifying him two minutes earlier? 

Derek made a frustrated growl and then he vaulted over the couch. Stiles jumped backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet, and then Derek was there, a hand on his arm to turn him around. Terror surged again at the knowledge of how helpless he was as claws brushed against the skin of his arms. 

Then his arms were free. Derek had cut through the tape. Stiles was able to desticky himself from the lamp, which he hurled away. His arms were still covered in duct tape but he could deal with that later. Right now, his priority was getting as far away from Derek as possible. 

“Get the hell away from me!” he said. “Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me. If you even think about trying anything like this again, I’ll kill you.” 

He ran for the door. The last thing he heard as he headed outside was Derek’s voice calling after him: “I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes kidnap and threats of violence and torture.


	5. Chapter 5

“Stiles, open up,” Scott called, between thumps of his fist against the wood of the door. Stiles sat on the stairs, staring at the locked door. He had no intention of going down there to open it. 

“Go away!” Stiles yelled back. 

“Come on, man, open the door and let’s talk.” 

“No.” Stiles had had enough of werewolves and magic. Scott didn’t seem ready to accept that and kept pounding on Stiles’ door. Stiles was slightly worried that he might lose control of his werewolf strength and just knock the door right off its hinges. Stiles wondered if he should do another search of his room in case he’d hidden a stash of wolfsbane somewhere. 

“Your neighbours are giving me weird looks,” Scott called. 

“Then go somewhere they can’t see you. Like Alaska.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve already punched Derek for pulling such a stupid stunt.” 

That did make him feel a bit better. Not a lot, but a bit. And Derek had made it clear that he’d been acting without Scott’s knowledge. Scott had been nothing but nice since this whole memory-loss thing. 

“Please open the door,” Scott called again. 

Stiles decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He slowly walked down the stairs and turned the handle on the front door. He nearly got a fist to the face as he opened the door just as Scott was about to start hitting it again. 

“Oh my god! I’m sorry! Are you OK?” 

“I think I need to practice ducking,” Stiles said. 

"That was not how I wanted this to go. I came to check that you weren’t hurt.” 

“Just a few bruises,” Stiles said. “He only wanted to scare me.” 

Which made it sound really mild. Those words couldn’t convey the full terror of the experience. It made it sound like Derek hadn’t done anything too bad. He didn’t feel that way at all, which was why he was standing on his doorstep talking to Scott instead of inviting him inside. 

“He’s good at that,” Scott said. “When I first got bitten, he said he’d train me. His idea of training involved him lurking in dark places and scaring the crap out of me.” 

“So this is normal for him?” 

“Definitely. When I first became a werewolf, we were both terrified of Derek. We thought he was a scary monster who’d killed his sister and he didn’t do anything to seem less frightening. In fact, he threatened to kill me more than once. I guess he thought we’d be more likely to do what he said if he kept us afraid of him.” 

“But you’re not afraid of him now?”

“No. He wouldn’t hurt either of us. In fact, he’s saved both our lives more than once.” 

"I just don’t get how anyone would think that’s an acceptable way to behave. Who kidnaps someone to deliberately scare them and thinks they’re doing them a favour?” 

Scott thought for a moment before answering, "Derek." 

Stiles had been wondering a lot what his life had been like when he’d been friends with these people. The more he thought about it, the more frightening the idea seemed. Scott was nice enough, but this was a world of death and darkness. Yet somehow, all the reports of brutal murders were nowhere near as terrifying as the thought that Derek might be lurking nearby to throw him up against something. 

“Look,” Scott said. “Next time Derek tries to threaten you, just call his bluff. Better yet, call me.” 

“You think there will be a next time?” Stiles asked. Scott looked embarrassed and managed not to really answer that question. 

***

Stiles didn’t have to wait long for the next time. He went to the store to do the grocery shopping that had been prevented earlier. He’d filled his cart and was feeling almost normal, when he turned into the next aisle and saw Derek waiting for him. 

“I’m just here to talk,” Derek said quickly. “I thought it would be better somewhere public.” 

“You mean somewhere you can’t tie me up and threaten me?” Stiles asked. 

“Yes.” 

Stiles tried to steer his cart round him, but Derek just stepped sideways and blocked the aisle. Stiles glanced behind him and started to tow the cart out backwards. 

“Stiles, please, I came to apologise.” 

“Apologise? You think you can just apologise for what you did and make everything alright?” Stiles had to fight to keep his voice down. He wanted to yell, but there were other shoppers and some were already giving them strange looks. 

“I know it won’t make it right but I really am sorry. What are you doing?” 

Stiles had pulled his phone out of his pocket, “I’m calling Scott.” 

“You don’t need to do that. I just came to explain. I didn’t expect you to react that badly.” 

“That badly?” Stiles fought again to keep from yelling. “How did you expect me to react?” 

“I don’t know,” Derek answered, “but I’ve seen you attack a werewolf with a baseball bat. Being scared doesn’t normally slow you down. I thought you could handle it.” 

“That doesn’t make it OK. You can’t just threaten someone like that. You can’t just grab someone off the street. You can’t just scare someone like that because you have some vague idea that it might help them do something you haven’t even asked them if they want to do. You can’t just...” 

“Stiles, if you don’t...” Derek started to interrupt but then cut himself off. He looked away. Something in his reaction was odd. 

“What?” Stiles asked. 

“Nothing.” 

“No. What were you going to say?” 

Derek took a breath, “I was going to say something which you might have interpreted as a threat.” 

“What were you going to say?” 

“I was going to imply that if you didn’t stop talking, I would smother you with a packet of kitchen towels.” 

“And you thought I _might_ have interpreted that as a threat?” Stiles asked. He was looking at his phone again, bringing up Scott’s name in the contacts list. 

“I wouldn’t have done it,” Derek said. “And threatening to kill you is the only way I know to get you to stop talking. It doesn’t mean...” Derek took a breath again. When he spoke next, it was with great effort, as though the words were being physically dragged from him, “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I don’t want you to keep away from me.” 

“Then what do you want?” Stiles asked. 

“I want you to get your memories back and be part of my life again. I want you to be your old, funny, irritating, incorrigible self.” His last words were quieter, almost a whisper, “I want you, Stiles.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be sex. 
> 
> I've left the story rating as M rather than E but I wasn't sure. If you don't want to read the sex part, just skip over the second half of this chapter.

_I want you._

Those words were constantly circling in Stiles’ mind, along with thoughts of every possible response that would have been better than what had actually happened. What had actually happened was Stiles standing in mute shock, just staring at Derek, until Derek had looked immensely upset. Then Derek had walked away, with Stiles still staring. 

Looking back, it seemed that Stiles could have said anything at all and it would have been better than just staring. At the time though, he’d been too shocked. Partly it was the shock that Derek, who’d been throwing him around, dragging him places, kidnapping him and shoving him up against walls, might actually have feelings for him. Mostly, it was the idea that anyone could express that feeling of desire towards him. 

Stiles was used to being the ignored one. He’d never had a relationship. Ever. He’d had crushes on people only for them to never even notice his existence. The idea that anyone would look him in the eye and say that they wanted him in that tone was just proof that his universe wasn’t as he expected it to be. 

Stiles thought back over his interactions with Derek in the past few days. He also thought back over his memories with their noticeable holes. He wondered if the lack of a relationship in his past might be not so much a lack of relationship as a lack of memory of relationship. After all, he’d forgotten a best friend, several near-death experiences and a whole host of supernatural creatures. Was forgetting a boyfriend really so much of a stretch? It would explain Derek’s obvious arousal when he’d had Stiles pinned. It would also go some way to explaining why he’d been so willing to go to extremes to try and get Stiles’ memories back. 

Stiles wasn’t sure what to do about his questions. He wondered about asking his dad, but his dad hadn’t mentioned the possibility of a boyfriend. Then again, Derek was several years older than him and a werewolf, which might mean his dad wouldn’t approve. It was entirely possible that Stiles had been in a relationship but not told his dad. Or he had been in a relationship and his dad didn’t like it so he’d decided not to mention it. 

Stiles decided that the thing to do was to ask Scott. Scott seemed to know more about what was going on than anyone else. He had the perfect opportunity too. Scott had invited him round for pizza and movies with the werewolf pack and their human friends. Scott had assured him that Derek wouldn’t be there, but Stiles would get to spend time with the others who had apparently been his friends before the memory loss. 

So Stiles headed over his house, spending the entire drive turning the question over in his mind and considering the best way to ask it. He decided to go for the straight-forward approach. When Scott opened the door to let him in, Stiles stood in the hallway and said quietly, “I’ve got a question.” 

“Shoot.” 

“Before I lost my memory, was I in a relationship with Derek?” 

Scott gave a surprised blink before answering, “No. God, no! Definitely not.” 

He sounded absolutely certain about it, but another voice called through from the living room, “I don’t know. I’ve had my suspicions.” 

That was the moment that Stiles remembered the piece in his notes about how good werewolf hearing was. Clearly some of Scott’s other guests were already here and Stiles might as well have just announced his confusion with a megaphone. He went through to the living room and saw a curly-haired guy of his own age sitting on the couch. Scott introduced him as Isaac. 

“What do you mean about suspicions?” Stiles asked. 

Isaac answered, “Well, there was a time when Erica knocked you out with a part of your car. When she told Derek, he lost it. I’d never seen him so angry.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Scott said. 

“He said that no one was to touch Stiles but him,” Isaac continued. “The way he said it made it sound like he was staking a claim or something. At the time, I assumed there was something going on.” 

The door had opened while Isaac was talking. Allison let herself in, along with another girl, a strawberry blond beauty. 

“What’s going on?” Allison asked, coming into the conversation. 

Before Stiles could get him to shut up, Isaac said, “We’re talking about whether Stiles was screwing Derek.” 

“I always assumed he was,” the other girl said. 

Allison looked thoughtful for a moment, “I’d not really thought about it, but now that you mention it, it does make a lot of sense.” 

“No! No it doesn’t!” Scott protested. “It doesn’t make sense. They hate each other.” 

“Act one of every romantic comedy has the couple hating each other,” the other girl said. 

“This isn’t a romantic comedy!” Scott said. 

“It may as well be, the way those two are always flirting.” 

"They don’t flirt!” Scott was almost yelling now. “They have never flirted!” 

He stormed out to order the pizza when it was clear that no one else shared his thoughts. Stiles was left with little doubt that everyone else thought there had been something going on between him and Derek. 

***

Stiles made his way back home after the evening with Scott and the others, still feeling confused about the situation with Derek. The house was dark when he got there; his dad must still be at the station. So Stiles let himself in and headed up to his bedroom. He’d just shut the door behind him when he was slammed into it. 

Suddenly Derek was there, looming a few inches from his face. 

“I am going to kill you,” Derek snarled. 

“I thought we agreed no more death threats,” Stiles said. He tried to shove Derek away, but he was a solid wall of muscle, holding him pressed against the wood of the door. Derek was right up against him, all heat and leather and strength. To his irritation, Stiles felt his body responding. 

“I’m serious this time,” Derek said. “I went to talk to Scott and I heard you there with the others, talking about me, joking about my feelings.” 

Stiles wanted to make a joke about the fact that Derek was even admitting to having feelings, but even Stiles could see that this wasn’t the time for such remarks. If he tried, he’d probably end up snapped in two. 

“I was trying to understand,” Stiles said. “I just wanted to talk to Scott. I didn’t realise that the others would hear and get involved. I was trying to figure out what was going on. You know. Between us.” 

“Did you figure out what you needed to?” 

“No. I still don’t get you, Derek. I don’t get any of this. I don’t get why you act the way you do.” 

“I like you,” Derek said, his words coming out as a low growl, forced out between his teeth as though the admission hurt. 

“Like how? I mean, like’s a complicated word. It has a whole range of meaning. For example, I could say that I like curly fries but that probably doesn’t mean the same as what you mean when you say ‘like’. What I’m trying to figure out is what level you’re talking when you...” 

His words were muffled suddenly as Derek’s pressed their lips together. It was a fierce kiss, possessive, with Derek still pressing Stiles against the door. Stiles’ mouth opened in a moan and Derek’s tongue fought for entry. Stiles was left breathless, his blood rushing rapidly southwards. 

Clearly, lust was short-circuiting his brain, because when Derek finally let him up for air, the first thing to emerge from Stiles’ mouth was, “I guess you’ve found another way to shut me up.” 

Derek made another low growl of frustration. He stepped away from the door, yanking Stiles with him and practically throwing him onto the bed. Stiles bounced slightly on the mattress. A little voice in the back of his mind wondered if Derek would stop if he asked him to. He wasn’t sure and that thought should have terrified him, but Stiles’ mind wasn’t in charge anymore and the rest of him was finding this possessive, powerful Derek a turn-on. His jeans were now far too tight. He wanted Derek to rip his clothes off and devour him. 

Derek stood by the bed, looking down at Stiles, who was sprawled onto the covers. 

“I want you, Stiles. And I can see you want me too.” He looked towards the bulge of Stiles’ erection fighting for freedom against his jeans. 

“Yes,” Stiles breathed, permission and plea contained in that single word. 

Then Derek was on the bed, kneeling with one leg on either side of Stiles’ thighs. His hands found the bottom of Stiles’ t-shirt and lifted it up. Stiles raised himself off the bed enough to help get the thing over his head, tossing it away. Then Derek was leaning down over him, running a tongue over his pale skin. Stiles wondered if this was a werewolf thing, wanting to taste him, then the tongue found Stiles’ nipple and his analytical brain shut up again. 

Derek worked on Stiles’ chest for a while, using his tongue, sucking on the nipples, peppering him with kisses. Stiles felt the warm tongue and the rough rasp of stubble. He wondered if he ought to be doing something in return, but Derek was clearly the one in charge here so Stiles let him work. 

When Derek finally undid Stiles’ flies, the ache was almost painful. Derek kept his hot mouth busy around Stiles’ erection, his balls, the soft flesh of his upper thighs. It was sweet, beautiful torment. Stiles wanted to come, needed to come, but when he reached to give himself the climax he needed, Derek pinned his wrists down on the bed and kept up the slow teasing with his tongue. 

Stiles was moaning, swearing and complaining in words that probably didn’t qualify as English anymore. He wanted Derek to finish what he’d started. Only when Stiles begged, did Derek lower his mouth over Stiles’ desperate cock. 

Stiles came almost as once, shooting his load into Derek’s waiting mouth. Then he collapsed, suddenly exhausted, utterly spent. 

His higher brain functions were still out of order when Derek asked if he was OK. 

“You’re shaving before we do that again,” Stiles said. 

He tried to push himself into a sitting position, but a wave of dizziness rolled over him. Stiles fell back again, his head pounding. 

“Stiles? Stiles, are you alright?” 

Stiles could hear Derek calling his name as the world faded into darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

When Stiles blinked his eyes open, Derek’s face blurred into view. He had a moment to wonder what Derek was doing in his bedroom, when the memories rushed back. All of them. His head pounded like it was too full. There was too much stuff in there, trying to sort itself back into order. 

“What happened?” Derek asked. 

Stiles wasn’t entirely sure. Something must have triggered the return of his memories and there was a pretty short list of candidates for the trigger. Getting his third wish must have fixed things in his head. The question was, had Derek known? He’d already proved the lengths he was willing to go to in order to get Stiles’ memories back. Had he talked to Scott about the other wishes and figured out that this would work? 

If that was so, then this whole thing had been a trick. 

But maybe it had been real. Maybe Derek actually wanted him, wanted to be with him. Derek had said he liked him, but that was a word that covered a whole spectrum of meaning. Like could just mean physical attraction, or it could mean something deeper. 

Stiles stared at Derek, wondering how the hell he could ask if this actually meant anything to him. 

“Stiles, can you hear me?” Derek asked. He was looking at him with concern. Stiles realised he’d just been staring at Derek for about ten minutes without saying a word. 

“Yeah,” Stiles said. He pushed himself into a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He started to stand, but his pants were still pooled around his ankles and he nearly planted flat on his face. Derek caught hold of his arm to keep him from falling, but not before Stiles’ flailing dislodged an empty water glass from his bedside table. It hit the floor with a crash. 

"I’m OK,” Stiles said, but Derek’s hand remained on his arm. That was a good sign, right? 

“Everything alright, Stiles?” called a voice from outside the room. 

Stiles looked up in horror as his bedroom door opened and his dad walked in. His dad had clearly just come from work, still dressed in his sheriff uniform, his gun still in its holster. Stiles was suddenly very aware of the fact he was basically naked, in his bedroom, at night, with a guy several years older than him. Derek still had his clothes on, but that really didn’t help with the picture his dad must be getting right now. They stood in frozen silence for several seconds, the three of them trying to process the situation. 

Derek moved first. He ran for the open window and jumped straight out. 

“Coward!” Stiles yelled after him. He was unfrozen now, yanking up his pants and trying to see where he’d thrown his t-shirt. 

His dad had rarely looked so angry. “Stiles. Downstairs. Two minutes. Or else.” 

Stiles got himself dressed in record time and followed his dad downstairs. His dad was sitting at the kitchen table, waiting in hostile silence. Stiles hesitated in the doorway. 

“Is there anything I can say that will get me out of this without being grounded until the heat death of the universe?” Stiles asked. 

“Let’s find out,” his dad said, his words low and controlled by sheer force of will. He pointed at the chair across from him. Stiles took a few tentative steps into the room. 

“If it helps,” Stiles said, “we didn’t technically have sex. There may have been acts of a sexual nature, but from a medical definition of sexual intercourse there was no actual... sex.” 

Stiles realised that saying the word sex that many times in quick succession was probably not helping his case in the slightest. He slumped into the chair. His dad didn’t say anything for a long while. Stiles felt the urge to say something just to fill the painful silence, but he was aware that anything he said right now would probably make things worse. 

When his dad finally spoke, each word was quiet, strangely calm. 

“Did he force you in any way?” 

“No! He didn’t. He wouldn’t.” 

His dad nodded slowly. Stiles guessed that meant Derek wasn’t going to get a bullet through his head before dawn. 

“I thought you didn’t even like Derek.” 

“It’s... complicated.” Stiles thought for a minute. “There’s this whole sexy power vibe he has going on and, even when he’s scary, I know he wouldn’t hurt me.” Stiles remembered a few instances when that wasn’t entirely true. “OK, well, maybe he does sometimes want to hurt me, but not hurt me hurt me. It’s like when I hit Scott for being stupid. It’s just friendly, playful. It’s just think he has his playful setting a bit too high because of being a werewolf. But even when he’s being all scary and angry, I know that I don’t actually need to be scared. I think.” 

His dad was staring at him like he was a babbling lunatic. It was quite possible he _was_ a babbling lunatic. 

“Are you safe with him?” his dad asked. 

Stiles thought for a while before answering. He thought about the number of times Derek had saved him, had put himself between Stiles and something scary. He thought about all those threats that Derek had never once tried to follow through with. He thought about Derek admitting he liked him, sounding so angry about the fact that it was almost funny. 

“I’m safe with him,” Stiles said. 

His dad gave another slow nod. 

"I don't like the fact that he's so much older than you. I don’t like the fact that you’ve kept this hidden from me.” 

“It wasn’t hidden!” Stiles interrupted. “Tonight was the first time we’ve ever done anything.” 

“I still don’t like it. But you’re growing up. I think this is a mistake, but making mistakes in relationships is part of being a teenager. Just know that if you need to talk to me about anything, you can do.” 

“Thanks, dad.” 

“And Derek is to come here for lunch tomorrow. No arguments. No excuses. I’d like to talk to him.” 

In that moment, his dad was scarier than Derek ever could be. 

***

Back in his room, Stiles found his phone and texted Derek. _I don’t think dad’s going to kill you but you need to come for lunch._

_Is he going to kill you?_ came Derek’s reply. 

_He already did. I’m currently a ghost._

_Don’t even joke about that!_

Stiles wondered if Derek was scared of ghosts, or if he was scared of the thought of Stiles being a ghost. One was amusing, the other was surprisingly sweet. He figured he and Derek had a lot to talk about too. There hadn’t been all that much talking happening earlier. 

They made the arrangements by text for Derek to come over tomorrow. Stiles wondered if he should explain that he had his memories back but figured that could wait until they were face to face. 

***

It took Stiles a while to fall asleep so he woke up late. He got showered and dressed, then sent Scott a quick text saying that the memory loss had worn off. 

_What happened?_ Scott texted back almost immediately. 

By then it was nearly lunchtime and Stiles knew that a full explanation would take too long. So he simply said that he’d explain later and then hurried downstairs to the kitchen. His dad was cooking steaks. 

“I assume werewolves like red meat,” his dad said. 

"I guess," Stiles said. He hadn't really discussed food preferences with Derek. Now that he thought about it, he realised he didn’t know a lot about Derek’s likes and dislikes. He wasn't sure he wanted to admit that. 

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang and Stiles went to answer it. It seemed Derek had decided against breaking and entering to make a good impression. That wasn’t the only sign of effort. He was wearing a shirt with actual buttons and his jawline was neatly shaven. Stiles wasn’t sure if he should be flattered that Derek was making an effort or if it was simply self-preservation on his part. Derek looked as uncomfortable about this as Stiles felt. 

“Dad’s making steaks,” Stiles said. 

"OK," Derek said. 

They stood awkwardly in the doorway a little longer. Derek must be waiting to be invited in, which was weird since he usually just broke in when he wanted to go somewhere. Stiles was just about to make the invitation when there was a roar of an approaching motorbike engine and Scott pulled up in front of the house. He pulled his helmet off and shot Derek a puzzled look. 

“Why are you here?” he asked. This was quickly followed by, “Have you shaved?” 

“Why are you here?” Stiles asked back. 

“You said you got your memories back. I wanted to check there wasn’t anything missing and find out what happened.” 

“You got your memories back?” Derek asked. “When? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“It happened last night,” Stiles said, “and I didn’t have a chance to tell you before... you know.” 

“You were here last night?” Scott asked. 

There were more questions, from Scott and Derek. Stiles cut them both off. 

“Get inside, both of you. I’ll explain everything.” 

This was going to take a while, but he might as well get it all out in one go, instead of explaining to his dad and Scott separately about what had happened with Derek. He still wasn’t entirely sure what had happened with Derek.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles went over to Derek’s place. Lunch with dad had been filled with some of the most awkward conversations Stiles had ever been forced to endure, but Stiles hadn’t felt able to ask the questions he really wanted to ask. Derek had promised that he wasn’t going to hurt Stiles, but those promises might have had something to do with the fact that Stiles’ dad was frequently armed. Stiles was still left feeling very much lost about where he stood with Derek. Had last night been a one-time thing? Were they boyfriends now? Were they friends with benefits? Were they even friends? 

So Stiles went to talk to Derek without family and best friends listening in. Derek opened the door before he could knock; either Derek had been listening or he’d been expecting this visit. 

Stiles stood for a moment in the middle of Derek’s apartment, while Derek filled the space with his usual, brooding silence. 

“What happens now?” Stiles asked. 

“You’re the one who came over here,” Derek pointed out. 

“I don’t mean now now. I mean now in general. In the near future. What happens with us now that we’ve... you know?” 

Derek shrugged, “What do you want to happen?” 

“I want you to start giving me useful answers. You can’t just communicate through growls and glares, you know. What do you want?” 

"I want..." Derek began, but trailed off. Stiles stared at him for several seconds until the silence became too oppressive. 

“You’re going to have to finish that sentence because I’m not leaving until I get a proper answer.” 

Derek made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat that sounded close to a growl. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said. “The last person I had a relationship with turned out to be a psychotic druid. The person before that burned most of my family to death. I don’t know how to do this.” 

Something fluttered in the pit of Stiles’ stomach and a smile found its way to his face. 

“You want a relationship?” he asked. 

Derek stood in front of him, looking like an awkward twelve-year-old with a first crush. Stiles couldn’t help smiling as Derek forced out a hesitant, “Yes.” Then he asked Stiles, “What do you want?” 

There was a look of fear on his face that Stiles had never seen before on him. He was nervous, worried about how Stiles would react. There was a strange rush of power as Stiles realised that someone else wanted him enough to care deeply about his reaction. Stiles was used to being the one rejected, not the one in a position to do the rejecting. Derek cared enough about him to be afraid Stiles wouldn’t return the feeling. That experience was so alien to Stiles and yet thrilling. 

Stiles closed the distance between them, walking slow steps across the apartment. 

“I want this,” he said. He reached a hand up behind Derek’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. 

Of course, he was Stiles and his brain wouldn’t focus on what he was doing, even when what he was doing was kissing Derek. A thought rose up and wouldn’t go away, throwing cold water of fear over his rising desire. 

He pulled away from the kiss, leaving Derek looking confused and a little hurt. 

“What if this isn’t real?” Stiles asked. “What if this is just the effects of the wish? This could be the lamp messing with your head and you’ll wake up tomorrow hating me for taking advantage of you.” 

“I don’t think we need to worry about that,” Derek said. 

“Why?” 

“Because, I wished for this too.” 

Derek closed the distance between them again for another kiss. 

***

A little while later, as Stiles lay spend, tangled up in Derek’s bedsheets, his thoughts returned to the comment. He lay, his head resting against Derek’s bare chest, the faint thud of his heartbeat in his ear. There was still a part of Stiles that didn’t believe this was happening, a part of him that expected to wake up and find out that this was still the lamp messing with his head. 

“Did you mean it?” Stiles asked. “When you said you’d wished for this?” 

“When you left here, the day you lost your memories,” Derek said, his fingers tracing light patterns up and down Stiles’ arm, “I picked up the lamp and wished that you’d get your memories back, because I didn’t want you to disappear from my life. I wished that you’d come back to us. I wished you’d come back... _to me_.” 

“You never said,” Stiles said. “You never said you wanted me like this.” 

“I didn’t think you wanted me. You only ever had eyes for Lydia. Every time, I saw you looking at her, it burned me.” 

“Lydia was... a dream I clung on to far too long. She was this distant, unattainable figure that I could set my gaze on. But I didn’t really know her then. The more I knew her, the more it became friendship. When she actually kissed me, it should have been this great dream come true moment, but I felt nothing.” 

“So I don’t have to be jealous?” 

Stiles started laughing. There was something surreal about the idea of Derek being jealous over him. It was another piece of evidence for his theory that his head was screwed up right now, but he liked it. 

“Stop that,” Derek said, prodding Stiles in the ribs. 

Stiles pushed himself up on an elbow and turned to give Derek a chaste kiss on the lips, “You have nothing to be jealous of.” 

He lowered himself back down, resting against Derek’s heat. They lay there for a while, content to just be beside each other, but Stiles, being Stiles, couldn’t stop the random flow of thoughts across his mind. 

“It feels like we wasted our wishes,” he said. “I don’t mean this one. This one, I’m quite happy with. But if I’d known it was a magic lamp, I could have wished for something more substantial. I could have wished for world peace or a cure for cancer or a second season of Firefly.” 

Derek chuckled, his chest shaking beneath Stiles, “Those are your priorities?” 

“Of course.” 

Derek chuckled again, the words coming out with a trace of laughter, “I love you.” 

Stiles hardly dared to speak the words, in case they broke the spell, but they needed to be said. 

“I love you, Derek.”


End file.
